


Long Live the King

by Zelazny



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-12
Updated: 2011-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelazny/pseuds/Zelazny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate take on what happened after the Season 2 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at geteven_getfic as DestinyDefied.

Nate sat quietly in the disturbingly overstuffed chair near the window. Federally protected witness wasn’t too bad a gig, if you could get it. He tried not to get thrown by the fact that the federal government had thought it fit to stash him in the same hotel they had kept Culpepper. The same hotel his crew had managed to nab their previous witness from, under their noses, not a week before. Let it never be said that the enforcers of the United States government didn’t follow procedure. They had all those nice little rules, written down in their nice little textbooks, for easy reference. Really, it almost made being a thief too easy. ‘Thief,’ Nate took a moment to roll that around his tongue.  
After almost two years, he had finally come clean and admitted it. Wouldn’t Sophie be so proud? He could almost imagine her, in her little psychologist costume in the Second Act Rehabilitation Center, looking on as he said it. ‘My name is Nathan Ford. And I am a thief.’  
After all they’d been through together, it had still been easier admitting he was an alcoholic, than admitting he’d lost his little white hat.  
And speaking of alcohol… Nate leaned over and grabbed the bottle the agents had so thoughtfully provided. Chivas Regal, not too bad. Not Jameson, but not too bad. Hell, he’d argued, if Culpepper could pickle himself on dozen of tiny vodka bottles, the least they could do was get him a damn bottle of whiskey.  
Being a federal witness was boring, almost mind-numbingly so. For a man of Nathan’s intelligence there were few things as painful as being left alone in an empty room with nothing to occupy himself. Oh, it was fine the first few days, but there were only so many games of chess one could play against oneself when one wasn’t allowed a board to play with.  
Sterling had seemed pretty smug about that one too. Weaseling little bastard. There had been a particularly sadistic gleam in his eye when he’d informed Nate that he’d be kept under constant surveillance with nothing to occupy his time but ‘a bit of daytime telly.’ No books, no movies, no visitors, nothing that could possibly give his team an opportunity to pass along a message.  
‘You see,’ Sterling had said, ‘ I know how your little crew works. As we speak their probably running around trying to figure out a way to get the brains of their operation back.’  
While Nate was sure keeping him from communicating with his team might have something to do with Sterling keeping him in total lockdown, he knew that wasn’t the main reason. No, Sterling wanted to see him sweat. He wanted to turn Nate’s own mind against him. It was probably the only reason he wasn’t down here every day gloating about finally getting the best of Nathan Ford.  
Nate took a drink. He’d spent months in self imposed isolation and drunken stupors after Sam. A couple of weeks of ‘solitary confinement’ wouldn’t really phase him. Looking down at the bottle’s intricate blue label, he thought he might have to reassess that. Obviously too much time in his head had knocked something loose, because something was off about it.  
Nate had spent a lot of time over the passed few years in the company of whisky bottles and there was definitely something off about this one. Something, not right, something, different… there, There it was. There on the top of the label, the crest on the bottle, a little red knight on a blue background. But this little knight wasn’t red at all, was he? No, hell, he wasn’t a knight at all. He was a king. A black king.  
Knocking back another swig from the bottle and smiled.  
His team was coming for him.  
Long live the king.


End file.
